Alexis DuMonde

The Death of Alexis Du Monde
A Cold Night in Ruthenia, 23 years ago.

The Kremlin Inn was a plain log building ordained with simple wood carvings around each awning and window. There was a fireplace built in the center, a bar on the north side, and private rooms on the north and south walls. Three men played poker near the fireplace. This would not be an unusual circumstance but for two reasons. These men were heavily armed, uncomfortably wearing their hilted swords and daggers while sitting on the stools at the poker table. Secondly, they were not Ruthenian. Few city folk visited Ruthenia during the winter, the high elevations on the Eastern fringe of the Valley and the lack of warm sea currents inland made the Ruthenian winters much harsher than the ones experienced in Crowstead. Two more men kept watch in the snow drifts outside the inn, and wished they were inside playing poker.

Before the journey had begun, Alexis Du Monde pleaded with his wife to not take the entourage, “The snow is bad enough, do I have to wait on your army too?”

She insisted, “All I’ve ever asked when you go on these foolhardy trips to the frontier is to take your guardsmen.”

“This is your way of revenge isn’t it, Beatrix?”

“That’s a bit petty, Alex? I’ve not said a word for 8 years about Anna. I can’t imagine how much snow fell on that forsaken village you hide her in.”

“Not enough to stop me.”

“I’m only asking you to give thought to your own safety. You’re one of the six Lords of Crowstead, and I shouldn’t need to remind you that you will soon have a child here that needs your love.”

Alexis looked upon his wife, she was seven months into bearing his third child, and the first who would be his heir. He was leaving her again, at this critical moment no less, to live his fantasy on the frontier. Theirs was a loveless marriage, yet… He huffed and stomped out of the bedchamber.

He rode from the city in formation with the entourage a few hours later. They at least had the courtesy to not wear their uniforms for the trip. He was as incognito as a noble lord with five bodyguards riding through the snow in broad daylight could possibly be.

The riders traversed many days and many miles of increasingly large snow drifts to reach the inn. Nearly two weeks had passed, it had taken almost twice as long as usual to reach the Kremlin Village. Alexis ached from the bumpy ride and biting cold from the journey, yet his heart was warm for he knew he would soon be in the embrace of the one woman he did love. He sent a man to inform Count Drago of his arrival, a courtesy to the Lord. Anna and her two children were waiting inside in the inn.

While his men tended to the horses, Alexis brushed the snow and mud off his clothes and entered the inn. The Barkeep, a man named Igor was waiting for them with mulled wine. Alexis quickly thanked Igor, and took a swig of the warmed wine as he barged toward his room on the north wall of the Inn.

“Papa!” screamed the two children as they ran to their father when he swung open the door.

Anna sat on the bed smiling at Lyosha. It had been three months since his last visit. He knelt down and the children began shouting over each other as they blurted out their life stories in long incoherent sentences.

Several hours passed and the night watch rotated. Two new men joined the poker game with their butts as close to the fire as possible. The Ruthenian bartender on the opposite side of the room rolled his eyes as the city folk complained of the cold. He had seen far worse. His missing pinky finger from the night he had gotten too drunk and wandered into the snow was testament to such.

Three figures outside approached the entrance to the inn on foot. One watchman raised a lamp towards the figures, and saw they were all hooded. None of the figures volunteered to show their face.

“Eyyyy, who goes there?” said the watchman with the lamp.

A shadowy man stepped forward, he wore an unmarked military greatcoat and a black woven balaclava. He informed the guard nonchalantly, “I’m here to speak with DuMonde.”

“How do you know –“

The second watchman interrupted the first and said, “The lord’s not to be disturbed.”

“The lord,” the figure chuckled, “is harboring an unsanctioned mage and will be arrested shortly. Tell him that Benjamin Craske is here to collect what he is owed, and that his patience

The watchmen stared blankly at Craske.

“Now.”

The first watchman dropped his lamp, bolted back into the inn, and ran directly for DuMonde’s room. The Barkeep stopped cleaning glasses, and the other guardsmen paused their game as they wondered what had possessed their comrade. The Watchman pounded on the door. He waited a few moments and pounded again.

DuMonde swung open the door, two children at his hip. “I was not –“

“Craske is here  –“

“Craske? Why is a Meddler here? Shit!” DuMonde knelt down to his children who wondered what the new word their father had just uttered meant, “Quickly, Boba, under the bed, go hide, don’t make a sound until I come to get you. Nastya, get into the closet. No crying!”

The children did as commanded, clearly bewildered.

Alexis mumbled, “This shouldn’t be happening, I consulted a Hunter –”

Anna looked concern, she came up and hugged her Lyosha, “What’s happening, who is Craske?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing to worry about.”

DuMonde grabbed his sword belt off the mantle and began slipping back into his boots. At that moment, the inn’s door swung open once more. Craske’s patience had run its course. Craske and his two followers entered the inn, the followers still wore their large black hoods. Craske slipped off his balaclava. DuMonde’s second watchman did not follow.

Alexis rolled his eyes as he popped his squishy boot back onto his foot, “Benjamin Craske, Meddleman extraordinaire! What a coincidence seeing you so far from the city. We should go out for a drink sometime.”

“I didn’t travel all this way to drink. I’m here for the mage.”

Alexis cocked his head, clearly confused, while he fiddled with his sword belt, “I don’t understand, Craske. There is no mage here.”

Craske turned toward the figure to his left, “Is he lying, Hunter?”

Hunter audibly sniffed the air and responded in a sad and monotone voice, “In the room behind him, in the closet.”

Anna watched from the doorway to the room, her eyes grew wide with fear as the cloaked figure called out the location of her daughter. The guardsmen in the room were all standing by now, hands ready on their swords. Igor the bartender had pulled out a crossbow from beneath the bar.

“Tsk! Tsk! Why are you lying to me, Alexis? Hand over the mage and keep this simple.”

“She’s not a mage, and you’re not taking my child. You can take it up with the council.”

Craske chuckled, “Oh, I’m sure that will go well for both of us, you’re the youngest rising star of the council. The King’s favorite they say. You’re the only one who plays ball with his harebrained schemes for Democracy. Sure, you have the clout to drag this out, but you’ll also drag your darling Beatrix through the mud of a public scandal. That or you can shut up and give me the child. What a simple choice, Alexis!”

“The way I see it Craske, you’re a weasely sonuvabitch who came here for nothing. I’ve got five men here, and that parlor trick freak show standing behind you doesn’t scare me. You can leave peaceably and bring this up with the council as a civilized man would, or you can go through me.”

Alexis drew his sword.

Anna began to cry, she ran for the closet.

Craske drew his sword, as did a hooded man to the right, Hunter stood still and began chanting, “You’ll regret those words, Alexis.”

“Serve your Lord men!”

Alexis charged toward Craske, but his feet were heavy. It felt like he was in mud. His sword grew heavy. His sword began to drop, his hands great sweaty as they began to falter at gripping the unfathomable weight.

Hunter kept chanting.

Alexis and his men were frozen in place. He watched in horror as the hooded figure went up to each of his bodyguards and sliced open their guts. Each man silently fell limp to the ground, blood oozing from their newly minted corpses. Swords clattered and bodies thunked, one after the other. He tried to protest as Craske walked up to the bartender. A crossbow bolt still laid on the bartender’s bow his finger no longer having the strength to pull the trigger. Craske slid his sword into the man’s gut.

“It didn’t have to be this way, Alexis. I tried to do this the nice way. You just had to shoot off your big mouth, didn’t you?”

Craske walked back toward Alexis. He stood directly in front of the high lord’s face, a grin covered Craske’s face from ear to ear. “Let this be a lesson to the Council. No one interferes with the Mission of the Corpore Sano.”

He pressed the tip of his sword into Alexis’ chest carefully aiming at the man’s heart. His sword cracked a rib as he slowly pushed it into the terrified man. He watched with satisfaction as the blood drained from the high lord’s face and the corpse slid off his blade. DuMonde’s sword fell out of his clattered to the ground next to his corpse.

The Commoner Wench screamed for mercy, she begged them in that vile sounding Ruthenian tongue to spare her children. Craske didn’t understand nor did he care to understand a word she said as he killed her. Damn Hunter shouldn’t have stopped the spell. He grabbed the squealing child from the closet by the back of her arm and drug her out kicking and screaming.

The hooded figure stood over Alexis DuMonde’s corpse, “Ey, Craske? Were we supposed to kill this one?”

“You saw him attack me. He nearly killed me. I was acting in self-defense,” Craske struggled to drag the screaming girl out of the room.

“I don’t think that’s how it went, boss.”

“Repeat what I said.”

“You saw him attack me? Oh! I get it. I saw him attack you. He nearly killed you. You were acting in self-defense.”

Hunter removed her hood. Her head was shaved bald, and she wore a metal choker which was the symbol of her harsh indoctrination. Not all the Hunters were easily persuaded to the Mission of the Cult. Her eyes looked dead as she glared directly into the room where DuMonde’s other child lay petrified in terror beneath the bed.

“Is there something the matter, Hunter?” said Craske as he got tired of struggling with the child, she was a biter, and slammed the pommel of his sword into the back of her head. He left the child on the floor for a moment while he drew a dagger and made a small cut on his cheek. DuMonde was a noted duelist and Craske needed a scar in there was an inquiry into this matter. Hunter would have to be officially punished for failing to cast the spell in time to stop DuMonde from attacking him.

“No, no more gifted,” replied Hunter still staring into the room with the terrified child.

Satisfied with her answer, Craske carried the now limp child out of the inn. The three figures and soon to be trained child found their horses still tied in the woods. They rode hard that night. Hunter had a searing headache and blood dribbled out her nose for the next few hours. She dared not to complain.